Pampered
by mosylu
Summary: Thanks to metahuman mayhem, Caitlin had to miss her spa day. Cisco makes up for it. Established Killervibe fluffity fluff.


Caitlin peered down at her toes. "You're very good at this," she said.

Cisco swiped the polish brush over her pinky toe. "Female cousins," he said, setting it back in the bottle and letting her left foot down. He picked her right foot up, expertly cleaned the excess off the brush on the mouth of the bottle, and started in on her big toe, his tongue sticking out the corner of his mouth in concentration. "The number of manicures I did before the age of ten, you have no idea."

"Hmmm," she said, settling back in her recliner and putting the cucumber slices back over her eyes. She ran her finger over her cheek, found the mud mask still tacky, and folded her hands on her stomach again.

Caitlin had a standing monthly spa day. Barry and Cisco made fun of her, but she told them that they had their movie marathons and their video-game tournaments, and monthly mud wraps and avocado facials weren't any more ridiculous than that. If she didn't say anything about their coping mechanisms, they couldn't say anything about hers. They'd shut up after that.

Sometimes Iris joined her - once, Felicity had - but most often she went alone, and came out with all the knots and soreness and tension leached away, ready to face life in Central City again. She couldn't imagine life without at least one dose of pampering every four weeks or so.

Except that a metahuman who could produce an absolutely prodigious amount of slime had made her miss her appointment today. When she'd called to reschedule, they didn't have another one for three weeks. She'd almost been in tears. It had been a _long_ day.

Cisco had said, "Can I come over tonight?" and she'd sighed and said she guessed so, fully expecting her boyfriend to bring a movie and cook her dinner.

Not that she was complaining. She loved his cooking, and as long as he'd watched enough explodey robot spaceship movies in the past week or so, he generally brought one they'd both enjoy, and it was almost a guarantee that he was going to go down on her before the end of the credits. So she was reasonably sure she'd feel better at the end of the night, but _still_.

Her _spa day._

But Cisco had turned up at her door at seven with a cucumber, a mud mask kit, and a giant fluffy robe. "Stole it from the Hilton when my cousin got married in Coast City," he grinned.

"What on _earth,_ " she said blankly.

He gave her a big kiss and tossed the robe around her shoulders. "Come on. I'm gonna spa the shit outta you."

He'd done it right, she had to admit. He'd taken all her regular spa treatments - mud mask, foot massage, pedicure, eye treatment - in stride. Even though she was in her own house and not Central City Wellness Center, and she was listening to his iPod instead of Zen gongs, and he'd had to rummage through her closets for twenty minutes to find all the scented candles she'd gotten as gifts over the years and never used, it was really, really nice. And she felt -

Yes.

Pampered.

"So, question," he said, finishing her right foot and going back to add a second coat to her left foot.

"Mmm?" she murmured, debating whether to let herself fall asleep.

"You have, like, seventy-six colors of nail polish here."

"Eighty-four."

"What? Really? How do you know that off the top of your head?"

"I have a spreadsheet on my phone."

"Wow. I really wish I was surprised by that."

If she kicked him, she'd smear her polish. Instead, she said, "Was that your question?"

"Nope. All this polish, and you paint your toenails every week like clockwork. Why don't you ever paint your fingernails?"

"I used to," she said. "In high school, and college. I got out of the habit, I guess."

"Why?"

"We were told in my grad program to keep makeup muted at our internships. Tasteful. Manicures should be neutral colors, or clear polish."

"You don't like neutral colors."

No, she did not. She liked rich, bold colors. Bright designs. When it came to her nails, she enjoyed glitter. Holographic. _Fun._

"No, I don't," she said. "But they're professional."

"You're saying this to a guy who wore a Keep Calm and Han Shot First t-shirt to his first day of work."

"I know."

"Don't you think the rules have relaxed a little, now?"

"You're saying this to a woman who still wears four-inch heels most days."

"I'm not saying take off the heels if you don't want to. I'm saying, at Star Labs? I don't think anyone would blink if you wore blue glitter nail polish once in a while, just because you wanted to."

She thought about it, and about how much she'd enjoyed doing her manicures in college. "Maybe not glitter," she said. "Right away." She wiggled her nose and felt the mud mask crack in a few places. "Are you done?"

"Hang on, I've got to do the topcoat."

A few minutes later, the quick-dry topcoat was on. She went to the bathroom, waddling slightly with the toe separators still on her feet, to wash off the mud mask.

She took a moment to admire her purple toenails, propping one foot on the toilet seat (closed) so she could tap the surface of her big toe. She found it dry, so she took the toe separators out and wiggled her toes to dissipate the weird stretched-out feeling.

She looked in the mirror and said to her reflection, "He gets a lot of ice cream and blow jobs for this."

Her reflection did not disagree.

When she came back, he was eating the rest of the cucumber slices and picking through her box of nail polish, studying the colors. She said, "Would you like a pedicure?"

"Hey, sometimes a guy likes to feel pretty," he said.

She grinned at him. "We can do it right now, if you like."

"Nah," he said, dropping the bottle back into the box and coming up to her where she stood in the doorway. "Later. Right now, it's time for your massage."

She put her arms around his neck. "Oh, I get a massage?"

"Hell, yeah, you get a massage. And guess what."

"Mmm?"

"I can pretty much guarantee a happy ending."

FINIS


End file.
